The Glass Archive of Identities
In the neon-slicked corridors of Neo-London, memories were not kept in minds but in crystalline shards stored within the Great Archive. I was a Curator, a man tasked with the maintenance of these fragile echoes. My life was a sequence of sterile rooms and the soft hum of electrostatic fields, until the day Elena Vance walked into my office. She didn't come for a restoration; she came for a...
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